Path of The Slayer
by adeadfreelancer
Summary: Many secrets have been lost to time, and Hell. Witness the Slayer's path from marine to devil, from a time where he was human, to that which he has usurped. Before the Unholy Crusade, before Doom, there was Mars. After death, beyond Hell, there is the Slayer. Whether he has fallen or arisen, is in the eye of the reader.
1. Knee Deep In The Dead 1

"The court finds you guilty, Private Blazkowicz. Did you hear me?"

The marine looked up from his feet, pulled from his daze by the judge's question. Without real care he asked, "What was that?"

"I said the court finds you guilty. Guilty of disobeying orders and assaulting a superior officer," the judge sternly informed.

"It's not like I pleaded otherwise," Blazkowicz retorted, earning him the glare from the guards watching over him.

After a moment's silence the judge continued, "Typically this results in you being stripped of your rank and a long term stay in a federal penitentiary. However, the Union Aerospace Corporation has recently struck up a deal relating to cases like yours. A three-year position as a security member of the Mars research station, in exchange for your freedom. What do you say, Private Blazkowicz?"

Blazkowicz suppressed a chuckle at the thought of getting off easy and replied, "That sounds great, your honor."

"Wonderful," the judge said, looking over the paperwork before him. "May God watch over your soul out there."

Blazkowicz's already faint smile fell from his face as he said, "If God were real, I would have killed that fucker instead of just breaking his neck."

**One week later…**

Like most military transports, the shuttle to Mars was hell. Blazkowicz found himself crammed between three other former marines, who told jokes and shared tour stories for nearly the entire day long ride. Still, the shuttle did its job, and allowed for a fairly quick trip to the red planet, who waited with open arms for them.

As the marines climbed out of the shuttle, their helmets secured and skin already freezing, two men stepped out of the station's airlock to meet them. The first dressed in similar green armor and tinted helmet, while the other wore a white lab coat and a less intimidating helmet that showed off a bearded face.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Mars," the marine said with a sarcastic wave of his arms. "Jameson, who do we have here?"

The scientist pulled a clipboard from his coat and looked over several pieces of paper. As he read their names, the marines each stepped forward. "Private Lance, Private Jeffers, Private Blazkowicz, and Specialist Po."

"Specialist Po?" the marine asked as he looked over his subordinate. "You aren't scum like these other three, are you, boy?"

"No sir!" Po quickly replied.

"Then why the hell are you up here?" he asked, glaring at the young marine behind his visor.

"I was offered a decent paycheck," Po said before quickly adding, "and a chance to serve my country."

The marine looked over them once more then said, "My name is Sgt. Miller, and I expected to be referred to by rank at all times. The way I see it, all of you are criminals, aside from Specialist Po here, who instead is just a pussy who couldn't handle a real mission." He waited to see if any of them would interrupt, hoping for it, before he continued. "Jameson here will show you to your quarters and assign you a bunk. There will be no trading. Any contraband found on base will result in swift punishment, a day in an isolation room. Any rule breaking will be severely punished. Your shifts will each last eight hours, though most likely you'll be working together. Your job is simple, to watch screens and make sure the other worker bees don't get in fights. There will be a more thorough rule book waiting on each of your bunks, and I expect you to have it memorized by your first shift, tomorrow morning at 8:00 PT. Welcome to hell, marines."

Miller turned and began walking away, leaving Jameson to say, "Follow me, I'll show you to your bunks, like he said. Don't worry about Sgt. Miller, he just talks a big game. Things are pretty boring here; we're really just studying the planet and mining for anything interesting. Last month, we found water! An entire ounce! I tell you, that was the highlight of my stay here."

The marines followed along, bored by Jameson almost immediately. They passed through steel hallway after steel hallway, almost everything the same as the previous section of the station. When they reached the guards' quarters, it almost came as a relief to see something different, even if each bunk looked exactly the same in a long room with four symmetrical walls, a door on opposite ends.

"Well, here you are!" Jameson said with an awkward smile. "If you'll notice, each bunk has a name on it, and a work assignment, along with the UAC handbook. Rest up, gentlemen, I think you'll need it."

With those words he left, leaving the marines to themselves. Blazkowicz looked over the handbook before stuffing it beneath his bunk, then looked back to the others. The only one who seemed remotely interested in it was Po, and even he was only skimming over it. While none of them quite regretted choosing this path, they still wished for it to have been something more interesting.

After several minutes of settling in, Po asked, "So, why exactly are you guys here, anyway?"

"Killed a couple civs in a crossfire," Lance said with a smirk. "They should have stayed on the ground like I told them."

"They don't like it when you decide to beat up on the POWs," Jeffers said as he thought back to the man he tortured, and of how he wished he had done more.

"And you, Sakowitz was it?" Po asked, uncomfortable at the answers offered by the other two.

"Blazkowicz," he corrected.

"Well, what did you do?" Po asked once more.

"I put my CO in a full body cast," he replied without elaborating.

Lance let out a whistle while Jeffers said, "Damn. That's messed up. Bet you wish he was dead instead, huh?"

"More than you know," Blazkowicz agreed.

"You really up here for a paycheck, Po?" Lance asked.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Three times my pay on active duty, for a glorified desk job."

"Well hot damn, good for you!" Lance laughed, hiding his jealousy. "Say, what are you, anyway?"

"Specialist?" Po asked, surprise.

"No, like, you're Asian, right?" he specified.

"Oh," Po said, still taken back. "Um, half Chinese."

"Couplea white boys and a Chinese guy, huh?" he asked with another laugh, making Po even more uncomfortable.

"I'm Jewish, Blazkowicz corrected, his cold blue eyes drilling into Lance.

**Meanwhile, on Mars' surface…**

Michaels pulled his arms in front of his face as the gravity drill fell apart overhead, raining massive pieces of metal throughout the area. Screams filled his ears, but it was nearly a minute until he opened his eyes. Reese thrashed on the ground in front of Michaels, his engineering suit shredded, and body burned. It took Michaels a moment to realize his oxygen tank had exploded, briefly consuming him in flames and shrapnel.

He looked to his left and saw Wynn holding a large piece of shrapnel sticking out of her gut, unsure of what to do. He then looked to his right, where there was a splatter of blood surrounding a piece of the drill. Then he looked back ahead, to see whatever it was that the drill had struck. It looked like orange stone, but stone couldn't break a gravity drill. A rocket launcher couldn't even do that.

Michaels attempted to take a step forward, but instead fell forward. He pushed himself up then looked down, his eyes widening as he looked to exposed bone and a mutilated left leg. He could see the ice crystals materializing in the wound and knew it wouldn't be long before he had to lose the entire limb. Soon after, it would be his life.

A feminine voice came through the radio in his helmet, "Don't worry crew, we have medics on the scene, and gravity is being scaled back by 30%. Everything will be alright."

In the observation booth, Doctor Holland looked over the carnage. From behind her, Jameson said, "Jesus, how could this happen?"

"I don't know," she quietly replied, her attention being drawn to something half submerged in the excavated hole.

"This is going to set us back a month, at least!" Jameson said, before he realized they may end up needing more crew replacements.

"What's the word from Phobos?" Holland asked, peeling her eyes away from the glass.

"Last I heard, they had discovered some type of ancient text," he said, before clarifying, "a prophecy, I think."

"You know," she said before pausing for a sigh. "In the movies, when you discover ancient alien text and everything starts going wrong, it's a sign you should pull out and fuck off."

"You think we should just leave?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Holland said. "I just think it isn't wise to continue. Any idea what the text says?"

"Not at all," Jameson chuckled. "Well, there was one thing."

"What?" she asked in surprise.

"Well, there was the alien text, and hieroglyphics attached," he said. "Most of them are what we believe the aliens looked like, a very diverse race, or maybe multiple races. Odd that we haven't found any skeletons or fossils though."

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Yes, actually," he said as he took out a tablet. "There's an image, I made sure to save it because, quite frankly, it looks really cool."

Holland looked over his shoulder to see a colorless image carved into stone with utter precision. It depicted an armored humanoid figure, being pulled down by an army of slightly less humanoid creatures. In one hand the figure wields a sword, which he uses to cleave an enemy in half. In the other he holds a shield, which seems to be bashing in the skull of another enemy."

"Impressive," Holland said as she looked over it. "Has anything been deciphered yet?"

"Nothing more than a few words," he replied. "They call this one The Killer. Or maybe, The Slayer. From what we have so far though, everything seems like it's future tense."

"So like, this Slayer hasn't been born yet?" she asked.

"Or," Jameson said with a grin. "Maybe it wasn't the Martians that he would slay. Maybe it was us."

Holland slapped him in the back of the head and said, "Would you shut up, Jameson? That's not funny, especially when people just fucking died a minute ago!"

"Sorry, jeez," he said as he rubbed the back of his head. "What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

"Go down to Human Resources," she ordered.

"For that!?" he almost yelled. "It was just a joke!"

"I meant, to file the paperwork for the _**dead**_," she darkly informed.

"Oh," Jameson quietly said. "my bad."

Holland's gaze was then pulled back to the observation booth. She was now spared the bodies and wounded that were there minutes before. Now there was only blood, metal, and stone. As Jameson left the room, her eyes fixated upon the unnatural stone shape. It seemed more prominent than before. It almost called to her, as if begging to be uncovered, as though it had been waiting eons for _her_ to discover it.

"Ma'am," came a gruff voice from behind, pulling Holland back to reality.

"What is it, Miller?" she sharply asked, turning to face the marine.

"We gonna need to do anything about the dead?" he asked.

"It depends," she stated. "How many were there?"

"Three dead, four wounded, one disabled," he informed.

"Hm," Holland pondered for a moment. "Wait for the disabled to heal, then re-station to HR."

"You know," Miller said as he thought of how to phrase his statement to a corporate puppet. "Them scientists in the uh, cybernetics division?"

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, growing increasingly annoyed by his presence.

"They've been wanting more folks to work on," he said. "They can only get so far on flash frozen corpses. A live one might do them good."

"Fine," she agreed. "Send them the disabled, and the wounded for that matter. But tell them that if any of those subjects die, they're on their own until the next shipment."

"Understood, ma'am," he said, turning to leave, before his eyes glimpsed something beyond the observation booth.

"You were leaving, Miller?" Holland reminded, now growing angry.

"Right, sorry ma'am," he said before finally taking his leave.

Holland looked back to her fixation, a smile growing on her lips. She wouldn't let Miller have it. He would never even see it again. It would only be hers. It would give her great things, she knew it. It promised her this. It promised her everything she wanted.


	2. Knee Deep In The Dead 2

Jones watched the set of boots moving past the bunk, terrified. Then they paused, and it seemed certain Private Vaughn was going to find him. A gunshot rang out from the nearby hall, nearly giving Jones a heart attack, while catching Vaughn's attention. One foot in front of the other he moved, his eyes scanning for signs of Jones before he stepped out into the hall.

Quietly, Jones pulled himself out from under the bunk, straining to hear Vaughn asked, "What happened?"

"Damn engineer went psycho," an unfamiliar voice said. "Stabbed me in the shoulder. So I put a bullet in his knee."

Jones moved to the doorway, considering yelling for help. Before he could, there was another gunshot, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Then there came a second gunshot, and a third. Jones pressed himself to the wall, praying to whatever god would listen that Vaughn would ignore the crew-quarters. By some miracle, he did, leaving the hallway in search of more people to kill.

After several minutes Jones emerged from the room and took in the sight of the two dead bodies, one a marine, the other an engineer. Then his eyes trailed upwards, to an alarm. He took a step towards it, then another, relief slowly filling him. It seemed as if he was safe after all.

"Thought you were still around here," came Vaughn's voice from behind him.

"Why are you doing this?" Jones asked, attempting to look back at the marine without moving his head.

"Because it's better than what they'll do to you," he replied, before another gunshot filled the hallway.

Vaughn fell to the ground, one hand clasped over his bleeding thigh, the other still attempting to take aim at Jones. With another pull of his trigger, Blazkowicz shot Vaughn through his hand, successfully disarming him. without a word he stepped forward, then kicked the pistol away, before putting a boot on Vaughn's chest.

"You okay?" he asked Jones, not taking his eyes off Vaughn.

"Y-yeah," Jones nervously replied, stepping away to safely look at his savior and attacker.

Blazkowicz put his free hand to his radio and said, "This is Private Blazkowicz in section 12-B. Dead civilian, dead marine, traumatized civilian, injured attacker. Looks to be one Private…" he paused to better read the name then continued, "Vaughn. Requesting backup to escort the attacker to a holding cell.

"Roger, Private Blazkowicz," came a voice through his helmet. "Private Lance is on his way. Please inform the survivor to report to Human Resources."

"Great," Blazkowicz groaned. "Get to HR. They're expecting you."

"Oh uh, okay," Jones said, before turning. "Thank you, so much," he added before leaving.

"Just doing my job," he replied.

"You may as well just kill me now," Vaughn said from his spot on the ground.

"Shut up," Blazkowicz nonchalantly replied.

"I'm serious," Vaughn grinned. "I'm going to get out and kill everyone here. Well, that, or they'll kill you first."

"They?" Blazkowicz asked in surprise.

"Damn Blazko," Lance whistled. "You sure made a mess. And I thought things would be boring up here."

"Just help me restrain him," he said in annoyance, removing his boot while Lance took hold of Vaughn's arms.

"Good news is," Lance said as he roughly pulled Vaughn up to his feet. "Nothing worse can happen up here."

**Meanwhile, on Phobos…**

A team of engineers hurriedly prepared a large machine, pulling levers and turning dials while a team of scientists simultaneously made sure the machine's data lined up with what they had on their tablets. On the moon of Deimos, the same procedure occurred with two other teams, just as it had nearly two dozen times already.

"Looks like we're ready," Chief Researcher Aran said as she lowered a pair of goggles over her eyes. "Activate it."

"On it, ma'am," Doctor Drew said as he did the same, before imputing a command into a terminal.

The whirl of machinery grew deafening while a spot ahead of it began to glow green. One of the aides spoke up, "Radiation levels are spiking beyond safe procedures, we shouldn't even be in the room!"

"We'll be fine," Drew spat back. "We have angels watching over us."

Then there was a flash of light, and nothing else seemed to have happened. "What the hell…" Aran whispered, before moving to a comms system. "Deimos, what happened?" she asked, but there came no response. "Deimos, I asked what happened. Deimos, do you read me?"

"Ma'am," Drew said as he looked in horror to his tablets. "I'm getting reports from the surface, and from Mars, that Deimos…"

"What?" she asked, moving closer to see over his shoulder.

"It's gone," he said.

"Gone? The base was destroyed?" she asked in surprise.

"Not the base, the planet," he nearly whispered. "It's just… gone."

"Cut down all communications!" Aran ordered. "I want the only information getting out split between us and Holland!"

"What do we do in the meantime?" he asked.

Aran considered for a moment before asking, "The teleporter… is it still online?"

"I, why would," he said before his eyes widened with surprise. "Yeah… it is…"

"What are the coordinates?" she asked with smug satisfaction.

"There aren't any," he replied.

"What?" she asked, her own surprise breaking her smile.

"It's online, and we have a connection, but there's no coordinates," he attempted to explain. "It doesn't make sense and… oh my."

"What? Why don't you just tell me what you see!?" she demanded.

"It looks like Deimos is attempting to make another trip," he informed. "Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem.

"Do it," she ordered. "We get them back, now."

Once more the machine roared to life, once more the men and women watched with anticipation, now more than ever. There was a flash of light, and then nothing visibly came through. But of course, just because one can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there.

"Shit," Aran cursed. "Any word from Deimos?" she asked, but he didn't respond. In fact, no one did. "Drew, do we have any updates? Did it work?"

What was once Doctor Drew turned, its jaw hanging open as though it was unsure of how to close it. Its eyes were hollow and vacant, while sweat practically poured off its skin. The thing that was once Drew stepped forward, a jerky movement that nearly knocked itself over, before it began to flex various parts on its body.

Aran watched in horror, unsure of what she was witnessing, as the various former humans in the room attempted to learn how to use their new bodies. Then suddenly Drew pounced on her, knocking her to the ground. Aran kneed it in the gut but it didn't even phase the zombie. She just barely managed to push it off of her and rise to her feet, only to be confronted with the others.

As the dead things clambered to Aran, she let out a scream that fell on deaf ears. Throughout the base, people screamed as their former friends bit, clawed, beat, and shot them to death. In minutes the slaughter was over, leaving almost no one left alive on the entire base. Those who did survive, did so only by hiding, and their time was now limited.

The thing that was once Doctor Drew moved to the comms system, looking over the equipment as it racked its brain. Then it opened its mouth, and in the voice of the man whose body it wore, it spoke. "We need… help. Terrible accident… need lots of help. Now."

After several seconds of silence it heard, "Roger that, Phobos. What kind of help do you need?"

"Strong help," it said. "Send… marines."

"Understood. What happened up there?" the relay officer asked but heard no answer. "Phobos? Phobos, come in. Do you read me?"

**On Mars…**

Blazkowicz sat down on his bunk, finally relaxing after the hellish day he had been through. After eyeing around the room to make sure he was alone, he reached underneath his mattress, and produced one of the several magazines he had hidden there. The marine laid back in bed and smiled at the nude bodies before him, even if he couldn't completely indulge in the content.

His peace was interrupted by a voice blaring out, "Lance, Jeffers, Po, Blazkowicz McMillian, report to the landing platform. You'll be briefed by Corporal Felix during transport."

Blazkowicz growled to himself in frustration but hurriedly stuffed the magazine away and reclaimed his helmet, before hurrying out into the hall. On his way to the airlock he was joined by Po, who was far more excited than he was to be seeing action. Then again, Po hadn't had to personally deal with dead bodies that day.

"I bet it has something to do with Deimos," he eagerly said. "I heard from some engineers, the whole moon just, disappeared!"

"That sounds like bullshit," Blazkowicz replied as they reached the airlock.

"No, apparently it's true!" he said without losing enthusiasm. "Just vanished! One second its there, the next its gone."

They exited the airlock to find the other four marines already waiting for them before a transport shuttle, their armor completely prepped, and guns checked. Corporal Felix rested a shotgun over his shoulder as he said, "Glad you could join us, boys. Get in the ship."

Without missing a beat, the marines filed inside and found themselves once more uncomfortably close in a cheaply designed shuttle. Felix moved past all of them without a word and sat in the pilot's seat, only increasing the confusion of his subordinates. After nearly three minutes of silence, it was Po who had the nerve to ask what was on all their minds.

"Sir?" he asked, hiding the anxiety in his voice. "What exactly is happening?"

"You're not to speak a word of this to anyone as long as you live," Felix quickly shot back. "As far as we can tell, Deimos is gone. Moments later, all communication from Phobos stopped. We have to assume enemy forces infiltrated the base and are holding the staff hostage. Or worse. Our primary goal is to find out what happened, and restore communications, before dealing with whatever the threat is."

"What about backup?" Lance asked. "Not like five marines could stand up to what a whole base of them couldn't stop."

"That's why we need to figure out what's happening first," he replied. "For all we know, it _**is**_ actually just comms."

"Let's fuckin hope so," McMillian grimly said.

**Several minutes later…**

As the transport shuttle breached Phobos' atmosphere, it quickly became clear that something horrible had occurred. Several locations across the research base had exploded, leaving small fires burning where the artificial atmosphere was present. Blood visibly stained the docking bay and catwalks, yet there wasn't a body in sight.

Once the ship had set down and everyone filed out, Felix said, "Blazkowicz, McMillian, guard the ship. The rest of you, with me."

Then he marched forward, the marines in tow, each drawing their handguns. McMillian watched as Felix opened the airlock, up until the others disappeared inside then said, "Just you and me, huh? I ain't seen you around the base much."

"I don't like other people," Blazkowicz replied as he looked around the abandoned bay.

"I get that," McMillian chuckled. "You should join me and my buddies for Poker night. We could use a fifth play-"

His words were cut short as the shuttle exploded before them, and a chunk of shrapnel was propelled into his chest. Blazkowicz could barely see out of the corner of his eye as McMillian fell to the ground as he himself was blown back against the airlock. He pulled himself up quickly, looking around for their attacker, before his eyes fell upon McMillian.

"H-help," the marine gasped as he gripped the metal in his chest, blood coating his tongue.

Blazkowicz was quick to take a knee beside him, unsure of what to do. "It will be okay," he lied. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

He then placed his pistol on the ground and gripped McMillian's right hand with both of his own hands. Blazkowicz wasn't sure if his obscured eyes were a sign of comfort or dehumanization for McMillian, but it didn't matter. In moments he was dead, and his hand fell lose in Blazkowicz grasp. But the marine wasn't alone.

He saw the shadow fall over him and wasted no time turning, grabbing his gun from the ground, before focusing it on whatever stood before him. The thing was not even remotely human, with what looked almost like orange and brown plating over its entire naked body. Its hands ended in black claws, while white bone-like spikes sprouted from its shoulders and down the length of its spine. It growled at Blazkowicz with other worldly malice, showing off the sharp white teeth while its eyes glowed like small orange fires.

So he shot it. Without hesitation, Blazkowicz unloaded his pistol into the Imp, splattering its blood across the metal floor as it squealed in pain. The click of an empty filled his ears as the demon took a step forward, its burning orange eyes focused on his. Then it fell onto its chest and bled to death.

Blazkowicz quickly reloaded and muttered to himself, "What the hell was that?" before looking to the airlock door. Whatever was happening here, he knew he couldn't stay outside.


	3. Knee Deep In The Dead 3

As the airlock closed behind Blazkowicz, he found himself wishing for a return to the boring security service he had been pulled away from. Several bodies lay before him, mutilated beyond recognition. Two of them had been marines, and unlike the civilians, had been blown apart by shotgun blasts. After a moment of inspection, Blazkowicz concluded they weren't his squad, and quietly moved on.

The anxiety flooded Blazkowicz's veins as he moved towards the door leading out of the reception area, but he refused to let it hold him back. Following his training, he pressed his back to the wall as he opened the door, in anticipation for whatever may lie beyond. After several seconds of silence, he craned his neck to look down the hall, then jumped back as a shotgun blast nearly took his head off.

He could hear his enemy moving forward, its movements stiff and heavy, so he waited for it to come to him. Then, just as it reached the threshold of the doorway, Blazkowicz grabbed it by the back of its head and pulled it into the room, before smashing its skull against the wall. Its nose spilled blood onto the wall, yet the thing seemed unphased, despite the trauma being enough to knock any human unconscious. Without waiting for it to recover, Blazkowicz pulled its head back and bashed it against the wall several more times, before it fell to the ground, shards of its skull sticking out of the steel wall.

For just a moment, he looked over the thing's body. It looked just like one of the UAC security members, with thin grey armor in contrast to the bulky green of the marines. However, it looked like it had been dead for a week, yet still held together more than it should have. When he moved to collect the shotgun from the zombie's corpse, Blazkowicz realized the metal had been fused to the thing's flesh, becoming a part of its anatomy. Disgusted, he turned away and moved deeper into the facility.

Upon opening the door leading to the next room, another zombie turned to face him, its blood red eyes burning with hatred. So Blazkowicz shot it. The zombie took six bullets to the upper chest before dropping to its knees, sinewy ribs proudly on display. Blazkowicz stepped forward as it attempted to raise its shotgun, before quickly shooting it in the head. The zombie fell backwards, and remained motionless as its blood formed a pool around it.

Blazkowicz took the momentary peace to look around the room around him, unsure of what it actually was. Bright lights of various colors glowed and blinked at him, while various screens remained black. The bodies of three civilians rested across the room, nothing more than blood and bone left behind. Satisfied, Blazkowicz moved on to the following room, only to find a long corridor with odd divets in the walls waiting for him. With his hand held tight on his pistol, the marine cautiously moved forward.

"Who the hell designs a place like this?" he thought to himself as he reached the next door.

Before the door had even fully opened Blazkowicz was charging forward, ramming a zombie against the wall before placing his pistol under its jaw. He could hear its friends moving their heavy bodies behind him, likely preparing to gun him down. Without wasting time, Blazkowicz pushed the thing behind him and ducked, letting the three other zombies pump automatic rounds into the living corpse. Thanks to this, he noticed a greatly appreciated prize. A U.A.C standard issue combat shotgun.

As the dead thing's bullet riddled husk fell to the ground, Blazkowicz pulled the shotgun from the ground. Before he had even risen he blew the first zombie's head off with a single blast, before cocking the weapon with a smile. One of the other zombies let out a growl as it raised its rifle, allowing Blazkowicz to deliver a punch to its elbow, breaking the limb, before firing into the uninjured zombie's chest, knocking it to the ground. Before either could recover, Blazkowicz pressed his pistol into the mouth of the one armed zombie, before splattering its brains against the ceiling.

The remaining zombie let out guttural growls as it attempted to pick itself up, while Blazkowicz simply looked down at it. It's armor did little to protect it, and now its lack of an intact spinal cord was on display for anyone to see, not that the monster could tell. The marine placed his boot over its jaw, before rising up and stomping down. Then again. And again. And again. Bloody chunks decorated his boot and pants as he continued to stomp even after the corpse lost any semblance of a skull.

"Ex-excuse me?" came a voice from behind Blazkowicz, causing him to instinctively spin and raise his guns. The frightened and bloody scientist before him let out a yelp of fear as she raised her arms in surrender while she stammered out "P-please don't shoot! I'm not one of them!"

"I was starting to think no one was left alive," Blazkowicz said as he lowered his weapons.

"Not a lot," the scientist said as she peered around the bloody marine to see his victim. "Some people held up in the uh, med lab. A few others might be scattered. I was hiding in the vents, they don't seem smart enough to check up there."

"Did you see where the other marines went?" Blazkowicz asked, moving towards the next door.

"Yes, um… you don't want to go through there," she told him.

"And why's that?" he asked, holstering his pistol.

"Those things, not the security, the aliens. They're out there," she said as she began to rifle through her pockets.

"An alien?" he asked with surprise. "So that's what that thing was. Fuck, I always thought they'd be robots or greys."

"Yes, well, the universe is full of surprises," she said before asking, "What's your name?"

"Private Blazkowicz," he replied.

"Blazkowicz, huh? Any relation to," she asked before being cut off.

"Yes," he nonchalantly said. "And it's been a lot to live up to. I don't want to talk about it."

"Right, well, Private Blazkowicz…" she said as she produced a syringe from her pocket. "My name is Doctor Aran."

"Nice to meet you," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Right, you too," she replied. "I'm guessing you want to continue through there, don't you?"

"I've got a job to do, and I plan on doing it," he told her.

"Alright then, marine. I may just have the perfect thing for you," she said with the small smirk of a slightly unhinged scientist.

"And what's that?" he asked as he looked to the syringe.

"A small sample of the Berserker Serum," she gleefully informed him. "For about a minute, you'll receive enhanced strength, stamina, and speed. You'll also want to kill everything you set your eyes upon."

"Thanks," he casually said before snatching it from her hands. "I suggest you get back in the vents. This will be over quick."

"Right…" Aran said before adding, "Good luck."

"Thanks," Blazkowicz said as he opened the door, setting his eyes upon two more zombies and a creature nearly identical to the one that attacked him and McMillian.

As he dodged out of the way of a small fireball, Blazkowicz jammed the syringe into his forearm and pushed the serum into his bloodstream. It was like liquid fire eating him from the inside out. His veins bulged beneath his tightened skin, while a feeling of pure rage overcame him. The Nirvana of death clouded his mind as he ran forward, grabbing hold of a zombie's skull, before slamming it into the ground hard enough to shatter it. With his hand still coated in brains he turned to the imp, which attempted to strike him with it's claws.

Instead Blazkowicz grabbed hold of its arm, crushing it in his grasp. As it screamed at him, he screamed back, before shouting out "You like playing with fire!? Enjoy this!" before pushing the shotgun into its mouth and firing.

Blazkowicz tossed the imp's corpse to the ground and slid the shotgun onto his back as he dashed forward, weaving between the last zombie's bullets, before grabbing it by its throat and waist. He lifted it into the air, tearing it open. The dead thing's blood spilled over the marine, before he tossed it to the ground and ran for the darkened sideroom ahead.

A massive ball of fire flew from the shadows, briefly illuminating two imps, but even in his berserker rage Blazkowicz was able to narrowly dodge it. Then his fist ripped through the imp's hardened chest, before tightening around its heart. The organ ruptured in Blazkowicz's hand, turning to red mush, as he turned to use the imp's corpse as a shield from its ally. It took the fire well, but Blazkowicz didn't notice as he tossed the body to the ground.

With focused rage, he struck the imp in the jaw, breaking it and sending broken teeth across the room. He then put both hands around its head, and forced his thumbs into its eyes. Blood and intraocular fluid spilled over his hands as the imp cried in pain, before it fell to its knees, and then fell motionless. Blazkowicz pulled his hands out, dropping its lifeless body, before he began to stomp on its corpse.

"C'mon, is that all you got!?" he yelled at it, breaking its legs beneath his boot.

Then a pig-like screech filled his ears, along with the unmistakable sound of running on a steel floor. Blazkowicz looked to his left side just in time to see a pink blur charge into him, knocking him onto the ground. The demon was on top of him before he could recover, using its chubby arms to strangle him while dragging him deeper into the shadows, before slamming Blazkowicz against a wall.

His eyes wide with pure anger, Blazkowicz grabbed hold of the pinky demon's wrists, cracking its weak armor as he removed its hands from his throat. "Oh, you're fucking dead for that!" he growled, before he began to spread its arms to the side. "I'm gonna rip your fucking arms off, you pink little sack of shit! Then I'm gonna tear your fucking guts out, and use your arms like fucking chopsticks to eat them!"

The Pinky demon cried out for help in its demonic tongue as the marine ripped its arm from its shoulder, but it's words were quickly drowned out as its slayer began to beat it down with its own severed limb. Then he took hold of one of its jutting tusks and broke it off, before stabbing into its underbelly. As Blazkowicz tore its intestines out the demon died, not that he noticed. He then proceeded to wrap the monster's intestines around its own throat, strangling it until one of its yellow eyes popped out, colliding with his visor before at last the Berserker Serum began to wear off.

"Oh. fucking gross," Blazkowicz muttered as he dropped the corpse, then wiped the blood from his visor. "Aran, you around here?" he called out.

"Yes!" came her voice from somewhere above him.

"You can come out if you want," he told her.

"I would prefer to stay away from a berserker!" she replied. "Also, that was disgusting!"

"Where the hell's my squad, Aran?" he asked her as he drew his shotgun, and looked around the empty room.

"By now, they're probably dead!" she told him, her words tainted in nervousness and anxiety.

"Aran," he called out to her. "My squad."

"I think they were going to the command center," she reluctantly told him. "You're going to die if you keep going."

"Only if they're lucky," he replied as he moved on. "Get yourself out of here, doc. You can't keep hiding forever."

From the vents, Aran watched as he left her in isolation. She considered following, but knew the deeper base was a death trap. So, she remained alone with nothing more than a few pockets filled with health vials and whatever she could raid from the vending machine. At least now there were no more monsters around. As she thought that to herself, she could swear she heard rattling from deeper in the vents.


	4. Knee Deep In The Dead 4

It is a myth that man feels most alive on that battlefield, that it unlocks any secret emotions or state of euphoria. All Blazkowicz could feel was a vague nausea in a sea of numbness as he tore through the dead things and imps. Bullet after bullet, shell after shell, there came no satisfaction or pleasure from what he did. His hands ached from the skulls he crushed, his body screamed in pain from the blunt force he suffered. Blood and organ tissue covered the marine from head to toe, while his armor soon grew covered in cracks and burns, trophies of the wounds he was protected from.

There was almost no thinking in the man's head other than a primal instinct for survival, mixed in with an unholy anger that was finally surfacing. With wide and vacant eyes he pulled a chainsaw from the chest of a dead engineer. Had he been able to think, he may have wondered if the engineer was alive or dead when the tool entered its body, before being so rudely discarded. Blazkowicz walked forward, chainsaw held limply in hand, before pausing as a blast door opened for the next chamber.

A dozen zombies, six imps, two pinky demons, and a new monster looked to him. The new demon was a spherical creature with red flesh and yellowed bone protrusions. A single cat-like green eye stared ahead, while rows of sharp teeth filled its maw, while its internal organs consisted almost entirely of a digestive system. UAC scientists would later discover a functional anus and bladder, unlike most of the other demons. Blazkowicz however, barely even processed it was there, seeing it as just another monster to kill.

The rev of the chainsaw was drowned out by the sounds of infernal screaming and a chorus of gunfire as Blazkowicz weaved his way between enemy attacks, claiming limbs and entire torsos like a sadistic collector. The zombies were slow, unused to their own bodies. They were easy fodder. The imps meanwhile, were smart enough to keep their distance and bombard him with fireballs, while the pinkies charged forward. The marine could barely even feel his left shoulder dislocate after a pinky slammed into him, before its twin hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground, and nearly to the spinning steel death of the chainsaw.

Blazkowicz spun around, swinging his chainsaw upwards as a pinky stepped over him, cutting open its soft underbelly, and spilling its intestines onto him. The demon let out a loud cry of pain before it fell over as the marine pulled himself to his feet. The other pinky let out a roar of rage and once more charged, only to find sixty-two metal teeth ripping open its skull, before the chainsaw let out a choke of pain, and died in Blazkowicz's hands. Without time for remorse he kicked the pinky to his knees and dodged out of an incoming fireball, before a greater blue flame collided with his back, burning him even through his armor.

With a growl of pain the unhinged marine turned, drawing his shotgun from his back and firing upwards. Blue blood sprayed out from the cacodemon as its maw began to glow blue, before another ball of infernal fire spewed out. Blazkowicz barely managed to dodge out of the way, before an imp's fireball hit him in the side, burning his ribs. With no time to change his focus, Blazkowicz drew his pistol as he fired up into the cacodemon, blowing out its eye, while he unloaded the handgun in the direction of the imp. There was no time to see if he had succeeded, the pistol was empty, it was useless, so he tossed it to the side and cocked the shotgun as he made his way across the corpse filled chamber.

The imp attempted to slash Blazkowicz across his helmet, but instead its wrist was caught in his grasp, leaving it open to a mouth full of steel, followed by lead and gunpowder. No time to stop, cock the barrel. Fire. A body hit the floor, no time to inspect it. Cock the barrel. Dodge the flames. Run, run, run, run, knock it to the ground, crush its head, FIRE, DRIVE THE SHAFT THROUGH THE DEAD THING'S GUT, RIP AND TEAR IT APART!

Blazkowicz stepped away from the corpse, looking over the chamber he stood in. The smell of incomprehensible chemicals found its way through his helmet, as he was finally pulled back to reality. Everything hurt. His vision was covered in rent tint, and at first, he couldn't understand why, until he wiped the blood from his visor. Blazkowicz stepped forward, still partially in a daze, before he arrived at a corroded railing overlooking a river of toxic sludge. From somewhere below, he could hear the cries of the abominations. But he needed to go up, not down.

The marine turned, his hand falling into place over his shoulder, before sharply pulling. He let out a cry of pain as his shoulder popped into place, but there wasn't time to take it in. There was one single room waiting for him between the comms station, and he wouldn't be held back by something as meddlesome as pain. As he approached the door, Blazkowicz loaded shells into his shotgun, anticipating another fight to be waiting for him. He pressed his hand to the scanner, leaving a bloody stain, and waited for the door to open.

A set of yellow stairs led upwards, while a rocket launcher and six grenades rested a short way up, a blood trail leading ominously away. Blazkowicz quickly slid the shotgun onto his back and claimed the rocket launcher and its ammo, looking cautiously around the room. Two large obelisks rested on either side of the stairs, while one more door rested in his path. With no time to waste, he moved on, before the rumbling of stone bounced off the walls, and he spun around to face whatever new enemy waited.

The twin Barons of Hell were over twice the size of Blazkowicz, and were both uninjured unlike him. Their flesh was pink and their eyes an otherworldly green, while black horns protruded from their heads. Dark fur covered misshapen legs that ended in black hooves, and gnarled claws grew out from their fingers. While one of the Barons let out a hate-filled roar, the other manifested green flames in its palm, before slinging them at the marine, who was barely able to avoid the attack as he fired the rocket launcher.

Smoke filled the room, tainting Blazkowicz's vision grey before the rocket hit one of the Barons in the shoulder, sending chunks of bloody flesh across the room, but doing more than to piss it off. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Blazkowicz remarked before jumping out of the way of a clawed swipe, reloading the rocket.

It was a game of cat, mouse, and another, slightly less ugly cat, where the mouse had a rocket launcher and the cats were unstoppable forces of death. In Blazkowicz's mind, this meant they were about even. It was already a difficult thing to avoid the attacks of the smaller demons while using his shotgun, but the Barons and rocket launcher combo brought about a whole new world of difficulty. Every time he avoided an attack, another one followed from the opposite side, leaving him with little openings to fight back. The occasional rocket he was able to let out seemed to do nothing more than make them even angrier, despite the large amount of body matter they lost in the process.

With a final blast, Blazkowicz succeeded in bringing one of the demons to the ground, its throat nothing more than scorched and mangled, only to be struck by its twin. Blazkowicz hit the wall hard, already coughing up blood by the time he hit the ground. His chest plate was now split almost in half, while a set of claw marks were left embedded in it, tainting the armor with the marine's blood. But Blazkowicz wasn't the type of person to give up just because he was hurt, not when there was a monster left to kill.

The deranged marine slammed his fist into the ground and rose back up as he cursed, "You motherfucker. You think I'm scared of YOU!? I've been killing all your little pets all through this fucking place, I am your god damned nightmare!"

Had the Baron of Hell possessed the ability to speak English it would have said, "You are nothing more than the ground I piss on," yet it did not. The look it gave the marine got the message across though.

Blazkowicz ran forward, pumping out hot lead from his shotgun, the blasts just enough to keep the Baron from channeling infernal flames or focus on its enemy. Once the blasts stopped and clicking filled Blazkowicz's ears, he tossed the weapon aside and lunged for the Baron of Hell. Despite his impressive weight, the demon remained on its hooves, but it didn't matter to the marine. He pulled his right hand back as his left hand held tight onto its hooves, and punched it square in the eye. That was more of an insult than anything, before the Baron could take hold of him, Blazkowicz grabbed hold of the demon's eye as it roared in pain, and pulled it from its skull. There came a sickening snap as its optical nerve was torn free, before the demon tumbled backwards, leaving Blazkowicz sat atop its corpse.

As he pulled himself up, the other Baron let out a garbled call for its brother, which turned to a cry when no reply came. The marine considered killing it as he reclaimed his shotgun, but he was running low on ammo. It would die, eventually, anyway. Besides, its death was a mercy compared to the pain its kin had inflicted on the people across Phobos. Once he had reloaded, the bloody marine approached the exit, glad to finally be at his destination.

What he found on the other side, was impossible. Half the facility had been torn in half, leaving sparking wires and torn metal on proud display, while a platform waited directly ahead. Blazkowicz walked forward in a daze, the platform calling out to him like something from beyond this world. Had he spent the time to investigate the area around him, he would have realized the mangled remains of the Phobos Research Facility had been molded into the shape of a pentagram.

Green boots found their way up dark concrete, as the platform's stairs reshuffled themselves to bring the marine to its peak. He looked to the red pentagram before him, shaped ever so vaguely like the head of a goat, and stepped forward. Blackness encompassed him, before flashes of light accompanied by deafening explosions brought light to the dead things as they unloaded their guns into him. Had his armor been in pristine condition, it still wouldn't have been enough to save Blazkowicz from a firing squad.

As his blood splashed out from his body and bullets tore through his muscles and organs, Blazkowicz took one last step forward, his mind drifting to home. He never got to see Daisy again. Then, a bullet ripped through his visor, and the marine thought of nothing. His body fell to the ground, barely more than mutilated meat. The dead things shuffled forward, those that could dropped their weapons, as they began to pull apart Blazkowicz body and feast upon his dead flesh.


	5. Weep For Sinners Who Receive No Mercy

Aran hurried through the air vents, the distant tumbling echoing after her. She knew that if she were to stop, whatever was chasing her would undoubtedly catch up. If she left the vents, she would be at the mercy of the undead and alien beings roaming the facility. The medbay wasn't far away, all she had to do was clear another sector and she would find safety. But the bite marks covering her arms and shoulders screamed in pain, and fatigue was setting in, all while the creature drew closer.

It was another fifteen minutes before Aran finally gave up, collapsing in the ventilation shaft just above a vent. With heavy eyes she looked down at two of the zombies fighting amongst each other, beating each other bloody. Then, she rolled onto her back, as her left hand dug around in one of her coat's pockets, before she produced a purple syringe. It was the last of the Berserker samples she had managed to scavenge, but it was her last result as a dull scream bounced off the thin metal walls surrounding her.

Before the creature could reach her, Aran pulled the cap off the syringe and jammed the needle into her thigh, wincing with pain before it disappeared, a mindless sense of rage filling its place. The monster was small, appearing like an elongated human skull covered in fire, it's jaws spread open to let loose an impossible scream, unabided by the constraints of mortal biology. It hit Aran's hands hard, splintering itself against her palms and burning her flesh, but a moment later the scientist slammed it into the side of the vent, destroying the lost soul.

One of the zombies looked up from below, it's partially rotted brain spinning as it calculated where its prey was. Those calculations went out the window as the shaft came crashing down, crushing it in its place, as Aran spilled out onto the ground. The other zombie had only a split second to look on in confusion before meek hands grabbed hold of its chestplate, then slammed it into the ground, before a foot began to stomp its skull into a bloody and chunk filled paste.

The humble doctor, now covered in gore that was not her own, stumbled away from the corpses as she looked for the medical bay. Rage still flowed through her veins, driving her to destroy everything she saw. Fortunately, this just happened to be a potted plant. Unfortunately for the plant though, as up until this point it had miraculously hidden from the gaze of various zombies and even a wandering cacodemon. By the time Doctor Aran reached the medical bay, most of the Berserker Serum had faded from her system, leaving her exhausted once more. With a shaky arm, she pressed her hand to the scanner, leaving a red stain on it, as the door slowly opened.

All hope faded as Aran fell to her knees, taking in the sight below her. Fifteen scientists, six engineers, and nine security members laid dead and mutilated before her. Bullet holes riddled every surface, while most of the equipment had been destroyed during the crossfire. The one surviving member, dressed in green armor and a grey helmet, looked to her with hidden pained eyes. Blood soaked and life fading, Lance reached out to Aran, his mouth opening but no words coming out. He tried so hard to scream, but there was no air left in his lungs, so instead he pointed. Then Lance fell onto his shoulder, his eyes remaining open as he died, transfixed in Aran's direction.

The shadows cast over Aran told her all she needed to know, but she didn't dare look behind her. There were no tears, no screams, not a sound from her lips. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing her fear, or her pain. Hot hands clamped over her shoulders, digging in sharp claws as she was pulled back into the shadows. As the imps tore her apart, Aran's blood stained the walls, but not once did she scream. When at last they were done with her corpse, the demons tossed her tattered remains aside and began to prowl the facility, seeking out new prey. There were only a handful left, anyway.

**On Mars Base…**

"Our transmissions to Earth still aren't getting through," Jameson said as he entered Doctor Holland's office. "We're also detecting more teleportation readings across the planet, but there's no correlation to the platforms."

"It doesn't matter," Holland said as she moved to the window overlooking the red planet's surface. "In minutes, it will be unearthed. My prize. Then, all of this will come to an end."

"Ma'am… what are you talking about?" Jameson asked, slowly stepping up behind her.

Below them, engineers worked tirelessly to hoist a strange stone structure out of the planet's crust. "Isn't it beautiful?" Holland asked as she put her hand to the glass. "I can hear them calling to me. They tell me such wonderful things."

"It IS beautiful," Jameson agreed, captivated by the alien structure.

With no warning, Holland spun, slicing Jameson across the throat with a letter opener. She quickly stepped around him as his blood gushed onto the floor, then stabbed him through the back of the neck as the man attempted to slow the bleeding. His body hit the floor a moment later, weapon still embedded in his body, while Holland simply looked back to the structure as the engineers lowered it to the ground. It was so, so beautiful, and no one but her could be allowed to have it.

A single leg, constructed from steel and iron, emerged from the Hell Gate. With it came a second leg, followed by a gatling gun and an awkward frame. The abomination that rode in the four legged machine was a thing of hideous beauty. A massive brown brain sprouting growth-like arms, with red eyes and a toothy maw looked down on the horrified engineers. With a twisted smile, its gatling gun began to rotate, and in seconds it was massacring the poor workers. Holland watched the Mastermind with fascination, eager to learn from this visitor who spoke to her from beyond worlds. The demon itself looked to her, and it's smile grew as it began to approach, demons following shortly behind from the portal.


	6. On The Shores of Hell 1

Sulphur filled the air, poisoning the lungs who breathed it in as neverending flames marked the barren crimson wasteland. To walk upon the ground was to subject yourself to sharp and hot jagged stone, littered with splintered bones. Structures rose from the wastes, constructed from a variety of materials ranging from bricks to flesh and organs. Temples floated aimlessly in the topless sky, untethered and unmovable. To the east rests the only source of wood in Hell, the Suicide Forest, whose saplings grow as tall as buildings in mere minutes. To the west, a storm wreaks havoc upon the fleeing nightmares. To the north, a tower rises miles high, guarded by a champion who waits for the prophesied one. To the South, there exists a prison, wardened by one who forsake humanity, seeking only to torture the lost souls within.

As Blazkowicz opened his eyes, taking in the sight of the flesh walls and bone bars forming his cell, he found it hard just to keep them open. Tears fell from his eyes as the toxic air suffocated them, while breathing was now more of a challenge than he had ever experienced. With uncertain hands, he pushed himself onto his feet, disgusted by the flesh that jiggled beneath his naked limbs. He took another look around the room, lit only by a sconce outside the cell, finding another person huddled in the corner, obscured by shadow.

"Hey, buddy," Blazkowicz asked as he stepped forward. "Where the hell are we?"

"B-Blazko?" the man asked, stretching a shriveled and scarred hand towards him.

The fallen marine took the hand and hoisted the man to his feet, taking in a nearly unfamiliar face. "Po?" he asked in disbelief. "What happened to you?"

"I d-died, Blazko," Po replied, his brown eyes taking in his comrade's unbroken body. "You did t-too."

Blazkowicz's final memories flashed in his head, allowing realization to set in, before he cast another look around the room. "Then this is Hell?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Po meagerly said. "How did you get off of Phobos?"

"What do you mean?" Blazkowicz asked in surprise.

"It's been so long," he replied. "Years, I think. You had to have gotten off."

"Po," Blazkowicz quietly said. "It's been a few hours, at most."

"I, n-no, NO!" Po stammered, a horrible realization setting in. "Blazkowicz, I've been here forever! I can't take this anymore!" The sound of wet foot steps filled their ears, leaving Po to shout in a hushed whisper, "It's HIM!"

The thing that approached the cell was much worse than any zombie, and debatably, even the worst of demons. It was a Nazi, still dressed proudly in its uniform, kept prestine even in Hell. Bandages had been wrapped around its face, obscuring all but the grey flesh of its jaws, and thin black lips. Whatever hair it had was hidden by its officer's hat, while its hands sprouted claws much like the demons that occupied this evil realm. As the hellish thing opened its mouth, sharp white teeth flashed out at the men, along with a serpentine tongue.

"Well well well," it's twisted grin said. "What have we here? Step forward, boy," it ordered. Though Blazkowicz complied, rage filled his veins as he looked at the monster, and he waited for an opportunity to kill it. "A Blazkowicz!?" It asked in surprise, causing the marine to recoil. "I haven't seen one of you since… My, how lucky I am! To finally be able to flay _his_ bloodline just like he flayed my brothers in arms."

The Nazi leaned forward, its grin widening until its cheeks split open as it asked, "Tell me, boy. What is your name?"

Before the monster could react, Blazkowicz grabbed it by the collar and yanked its head against the bone bars. His hands found its throat and began strangling as he continuously bashed its skull against the bars, grinning as he inflicted the justice his family had always excelled at. He answered, "You can call me Samson, because I'm the strongest fucking Jew that you're gonna meet."

As his hands grew wet with the Nazi's blood, he tossed its body to the ground, then began to slam his shoulder against the bars. "What are you doing?" Po asked from behind him.

"Getting out of here," he replied as he collided with the bars once more.

"Blazko, you can't escape," Po nervously said. "We're in Hell. There's nowhere left to go."

"I don't fucking care," Blazkowicz growled as the bones cracked beneath his weight.

"You can't even kill them!" Po began to yell. "They just come back to life!"

"If I can't kill them," he said as two of the bars fell to the ground. "I'll just make them fucking suffer."

Po watched as Blazkowicz climbed out from his cell, and after a moment of consideration, nervously followed after him. "What's the plan?" he asked as Blazkowicz stomped on the twice-dead Nazi's skull.

"Get out of the prison," he answered between stomps. "Find shelter. Find weapons. Kill everything you can."

"Oh," Po said, having expected a more thought out response. "Good plan."

The Infernal Prison was a labyrinth designed to torture just as much as it was to contain. The one upside to this was that it was easy enough to avoid demons as they snuck through the organic tunnels, passing by cells containing various damned souls from a variety of races. Had the situation been different, both men would have been amazed to see just how many different sentient alien species there were in the universe. Instead though, they focused purely on their escape.

It was over an hour until they found their exit, another long tunnel, this time with red light on the other end, guarded by two imps. As they thought of the best way to take them out without raising attention, the freshly ressurected Nazi's voice called out, "The prisoners! After them! Bring me the head of the Jew!"

"We're running," Blazkowicz quickly said, already dashing forward by the time Po registered what he said.

Bullets ripped through the flesh prison, spilling its blood and pus as the two marines ran for the exit. Blazkowicz's fist collided with the jaw of an imp as he ran, dislocating it and knocking the demon to the ground. As it's brother focused on him to lodge a fireball, Po was able to sprint behind it, looking only at his ally. There was no ground waiting for either of them at the end of the tunnel, something Po only managed to realize just before he fell. As flames and bullets flew after them, the pair fell dozens of feet until they entered The River Styx, made from blood and littered with screaming souls who thrashed at the pair.

Blazkowicz was the first to reach the shore, his hands seeping blood as he pulled himself upwards, before grabbing Po's flailing wrist. By the time both were on solid ground, the horde of cacodemons was already descending upon them, casting their electrically charged flames at the foolish humans. There was no more fighting to be done, all they could do was run.

In the distance, they could see The Tower of Babel rising ever so high, the lost moon of Deimos rested above it, devoid of any light. Before the tower, and the fallen moon, there were mountains. These would be the shelter the two searched for, if only they could reach them safely. Nearby, a swarm of spider-like demons surfaced from beneath the crimson rock, spreading out to chase after the pair, though they weren't quite fast enough to avoid being hit by friendly fire from the cacodemons.

Once they reached the mountains though, the horde and survivors of the swarm both pulled back, with only the occasional badly aimed fireball coming towards the marines as they climbed. By the time they reached a crevice, the two had torn open nearly the entirety of their hands and feet, while their legs and arms weren't much better. Still, there came a cave with flat smooth stone, and with it relief. Po collapsed against a wall, while Blazkowicz inspected the cave's back, before finding himself satisfied and sat down.

"I can't believe we actually made it," Po chuckled.

"We're not out of the fire yet," Blazkowicz replied. "They gave up. That can't be good."

"Why not?" Po asked, straining his neck to look at the other marine.

"Because they stopped as we reached the mountain," he replied. "Which means something much worse is somewhere on it."


	7. On The Shores of Hell 2

It is unheard of for mortal souls to survive in Hell. They are to be confined and tortured for eternity, not let loose to roam the land. In one realm, a council gathers to discuss how they should reclaim their lost property. In another, a monarch proposes using the mortals as an excuse for war. Across the infinity of Hell, angered yells and desperate plans are enacted by leaders to put forth the order they had worked so hard to establish amidst the chaos of damnation. There are but two Devils who care not for the fates of the mortals, for their own plans are much more ambitious than Hell.

There are no days or nights, only crimson twilight. But there are sleep schedules, Blazkowicz and Po learned as they studied the demons from afar. For several hours each "day" they could hear some massive beast scuttling around the mountain, and knew to stay inside the cave. Outside of those hours, they observed as much as they could. Imps sleep in piles, unless a purple variant was present, in which case they flocked around it. Cacodemons nest, typically far away from one another, though several pairs have been witnessed so far. The pinky demons always slept in pairs, side by side. They all only slept for a couple hours at most, but it was still important information. More interesting, was that all of the demons seemed to hate each other almost as much as they did humans.

The imps and cacodemons were practically at war, though casualties were rare. On the occasion where a pair of pinky demons encountered imps, they would recklessly charge forward, taking as many as possible out before dying from their wounds. They had only seen one Baron of Hell together, who they nicknamed Scar, as its left eye had been sliced open at some point, leaving behind a nasty wound. The Baron was the most hated, and most feared. It slaughtered any demons it encountered, while all demons either fled or hopelessly fought back. Scar lurked near the Suicide Forest, making him the biggest threat for what was to come.

"How good are you at making weapons?" Blazkowicz asked.

"Damn good," Po replied. "I'm like an 8th generation blacksmith."

"Really?" Blazkowicz asked with surprise.

"Yup," he gleefully informed. "My family's always had a history with it, but when the Imperial army invaded is when things really got into gear. Everyone needed a sword, even if they had guns, and some chest plates never hurt."

"I'm not exactly sure if there's a lot of metal in this place," Blazkowicz replied.

"True, but I can work with what we get," he said. "If we can get some bones, those might do the trick for a bit. Broken bones are crazy sharp. We can use them to maybe break some of the rock, grind it into blades. It's hard, but not impossible."

"What about spears?" he asked.

"Well, we'd probably need wood…" Po trailed off, realizing they had only seen one collection of trees.

"I'll get the wood," Blazkowicz said as he stood up. "Scar's sleeping. It should only take me a couple hours at most."

The trek to the Suicide Forest was hell on Blazkowicz's feet, but he was growing used to the constant pain of Hell. Avoiding the cacodemons was more difficult than he thought, but they weren't the smartest of creatures, and posing as a corpse worked perfectly. By the time he reached the forest's edge, with no sign of Scar, he was just short of an hour on his journey.

Each tree grew into a shape just vaguely reminiscent of a different person. More disturbing though, was that the fruit the trees grew were actual human bodies, identical to one another on each tree. The fruit were sentient, living, and scared beings. They screamed and cried as monkey-like demons pulled apart their flesh, feasting upon them like they were nothing more than apples. Blazkowicz pushed the disgusting imagery from his mind and continued, finding a tree without any hanging bodies on it, then slowly climbed up it, his blood seeping into its trunk.

Once Blazkowicz had managed to hoist himself onto a thick branch, a hole opened up near his head, and a human eye stared back at him. "What are you doing?" it asked in a hushed whisper.

"Getting wood," he replied as he pulled away a secondary branch.

The tree let out a small cry of pain before saying, "Please. Don't hurt me anymore. All there is, is hurting…"

"Sorry buddy, but I need this more than you do," Blazkowicz said, ripping another branch from the tree, ignoring the squirt of blood that came out.

"Why are you doing this?" it asked, its eye swelling with pained tears.

"Because I need to survive," he answered, before he began to break off the larger branch.

"Will you at least take me with you?" it asked, still full of hope even after an eternity of torment.

"Sorry, I don't think that's possible," he said before climbing back down to the ground.

The loud gargled snoring of a massive beast filled Blazkowicz's ears as he approached the exit. For the first time, he heard what a demon sounded like as it slept. He wasn't a fan. He quietly lowered all but one sharp looking branch to the ground then crept forward, seeking out his prey. The Baron of Hell slept soundly, for no demon was foolish enough to attack it, even in its sleep. But Blazkowicz was much worse than a demon. Like a cheetah in the brush, he made sure it wouldn't stir, before pouncing upon the Baron, driving the branch through its remaining eye as deep as he could muster. It screamed in agony as it flailed its arms, hitting Blazkowicz in the chest and knocking him into a tree.

Through pained breaths Blazkowicz watched as the Baron struggled to stand up, before gripping the branch, and pulling. Its eye was ripped from its skull, along with a chunk of brain, and for a moment it stared blindly at Blazkowicz, before falling to the ground. Blazkowicz slowly approached it, taking the branch from its limp hands, then poked it in the ribs to make sure it was dead. Satisfied, he reached his hand into its mouth and took hold of a fang. It was a struggle to break it free, but once done, he set to work on sawing off its head with the broken tooth.

By the time he had finished, several monkey demons had gathered and were ripping off chunks of Scar's flesh to eat, unafraid of Blazkowicz. This proved fatal, as a branch embedded through one of their throats, before he quickly grabbed hold of another. In a flash, its neck was broken, as the remaining two demons fled deep into the forest, climbing the trees for safety. Blazkowicz quietly took the corpses and his trophy, then retrieved the wood he gathered, and returned to Po.

Po was shocked when Blazkowicz dropped a pile of branches at his feet, along with two small bodies, while he stood holding a severed head. "Are those good?" he simply asked.

"Uh, yeah," Poe replied. "We can probably eat these too, if we cook them."

"What about shoes?" Blazkowicz asked.

"If we skin them, yeah, that will work," Poe said, before his partner tossed him the broken fang. "Is that… Scar's head?"

"Yup," Blazkowicz said as he sat down.

Po began to break and arrange the smaller branches, before slowly starting a fire. Once the flames flickered to life, he began to skin the monkey demons, placing the bodies carefully on the ground to his left. Then, he tossed one body to Blazkowicz and said, "Dig the organs out, and some fat. We need it to treat the skins. Some brains might work, too, but that's groser."

Together they prepared the skins, before heat treating them. Once done, they skewered the demons on the end of sticks and slowly roasted them, before digging in. "I had no idea how hungry I was," Blazkowicz said with a mouth full of white meat.

"It's this place," Poe said with an equally full mouth. "You can't die of hunger, so you don't even realize your stomach's empty."

As the embers died down, the two men sat together, looking out over the dark red sky in silence. The occasional flash of light came from Deimos, a distress signal far from anyone who could respond to it. Minutes passed that felt like hours, before Po leaned his head onto Blazkowicz's shoulder. Blazkowicz tensed for a moment, before quietly putting his arm around Po. They sat there together, throughout what they took to be night, comforted by each other's presence.


	8. On The Shores of Hell 3

The following weeks were spent hunting the most dangerous game. The hosts of Hell were far more dangerous than man, more so than just about any species across the multiverse. The duo spent their time stalking individual demons, waiting for the moment where they would be seperate from the others, before striking. It took practice to learn their weak points, blood and sweat to bring them down without a fight. Though the demons would inevitably just resurrect somewhere else, they were free to take trophies from the demons' corpses as they saw fit.

The armored breastplates of imps covered their chests, while pinky demon hides were worn over their backs, and the skins of smaller demons covered their hands and feet to protect them from the harsh rock they travelled upon. Blazkowicz wore the skull of the scarred Baron of Hell upon his head like a helmet. His cold blue eyes peered out from beneath Scar's upper fangs, burning with an overwhelming anger beyond what even the demons could produce.

In their pursuits, they discovered that the joints of imp's were extremely brittle. A well placed spear through the back of the knee completely immobilized them, allowing the marines to get in close and slit their throats. Their ribs were also less protected, and were particularly susceptible to bludgeoning. Pinky demons, as Blazkowicz had discovered on Phobos, had soft underbellies. Bizarrely however, they also seemed to be extremely weak to attacks on their tails. Crude autopsies discovered that this was because several vital organs were stored in their tails instead of their chests. Cacodemons meanwhile, had perhaps the most obvious weak spot: their giant eyes. They also didn't like having spears jammed in their mouths.

After three and a half weeks Blazkowicz finally said, "It's time. We need to reach Deimos."

"Deimos?" Po remarked with surprise. "What the hell's on Deimos?"

"A teleporter, for one," he replied. "We need to get back home. There's people who need help."

"There's people who need our help here," Po responded, rising from the cave floor. "That prison, it's still full. We know how to kill the demons, we can save them!"

"I'm going," Blazkowicz said, claiming a spear.

"And I'm going for the prison," Po declared, taking up his sword. Then, after a moment he asked, "You're not going to budge, are you?"

"No," he said, and though it was the truth, his heart swelled with guilt.

Before any more could be said, an intense rumbling shook the mountain to its core. Both men grabbed the weapons they could carry, each covered in spears, knives, and swords made of bone and rock, before hurrying to the cave's exit. They watched in awe and horror as a massive hand pressed down onto the mountain's surface, ripping stone apart as a foot came down onto the ground below, before the beast turned. It held yellow eyes and a twisted grin, with twin horns protruding from the sides of its heads. This is to say nothing of its incredible height, standing just above twenty meters tall. But the lowly titan was no more than a carrier, for the temple on its back.

The behemoth lowered itself to its knees and held its head to the base of the mountain, as the temple opened a set of double doors. Both men watched, their weapons drawn, as The Wolfen SS emerged, their eyes glowing red behind cracked gas masks as they readied their weapons. Leading them was Colonel Mayer, his black-lipped grin still held upon his face.

"Guten Tag, sinners!" he giggled as he walked across the titan's back. "I apologize for being so late. It's taken me awhile to get a hold of my old squad! Have you any idea how many people there are in Hell!?"

"Piss off!" Po yelled back at him, before throwing his spear.

They watched as one of the Nazi soldiers stepped in its way, impaling himself to prevent his commanding officer from suffering harm. Mayer simply pushed the soldier off the titan's head, not even bothering to watch him roll off and fall to the ground far below. He then said, "We can do this easily, or we can do this harshly. I have a dozen and, well, not quite a half anymore… men at my disposal. You are two. An Asian and a Jew, standing against the might of Aryan superiority! You stand no chance."

"I'm going to rip his head off this time," Blazkowicz declared in a hushed whisper.

"Not if I get to him first," Po replied. "Duress?"

"Duress," he agreed.

Blazkowicz dropped his spear and both raised their hands as Po said, "We surrender. Please, just have mercy on us!"

"Oh you can never have mercy," Mayer said as he and his men approached them, stepping off the titan. "But for your compliance… perhaps I'll go easy on you."

"Oh, thank you for that," Po said with a roll of his eyes as the Nazis surrounded them, their submachine guns readied for action.

"Hold out your hands," Mayer said as he produced a dagger from within his overcoat.

Po nervously raised his hands, While Blazkowicz looked in with an emotionless mask. Mayer pulled the dagger back, and struck down. Just before metal hit flesh, Blazkowicz grabbed hold of his wrist, then tossed the Nazi back into two of his followers, knocking them to the ground. As one, Blazkowicz and Po drew their swords, setting to work on their evil enemies. They didn't know the weap points on the Wolfen armor, but their military training told them everything they needed to know. Slice the barrels off their guns, kick their feet out from under them, aim for the head. Blood spilled over the marines as Nazi corpses fell to the ground. For an eternity, they had known one but the defenseless to prey upon. They weren't prepared for capable warriors who fight back without fear.

By the time Mayer had pulled himself to his feet, Blazkowicz and Po took down his last two guards, Blazkowicz cutting the Nazi'slegs out from beneath him, while Po drove his blade through his Nazi's skull. Mayer stumbled backwards, his tongue tied in disbelief. The two men he saw before him, adorned in the flesh and bone of demons, and soaked in Nazi blood, were like nothing he had seen before. They were even more horrifying than even Terror Billy, who claimed thousands of lives.

"Y'you," Mayer stammered, looking for words to describe the two men. "You unchained predators! You belong back in your place, you're nothing more than animals fit for cages!"

"Shall you do the honors?" Po asked.

"Together?" Blazkowicz asked back.

Then together, they each brought their blades downwards. Blazkowicz sliced off Mayer's right arm, while Poe cleaved off his left. Both swung into his ribs, ripping open his lungs, before pulling their weapons back out. With one last blow, they swung down into his skull, killing the Nazi once again. As they pulled their swords free once last time, Blazkowicz kicked the Nazi's corpse away. Both watched as it cascaded down the side of the mountain, ripping itself open upon the sharp stone, before landing mutilated by the body Mayer had pushed off the titan shortly before.

After a few moments of silence, Po said, "I'm not going back."

Blazkowicz set out a sigh and said, "I understand," then began to walk away.

"Wait, Blazkowicz!" Po called out after him, causing the marine to pause.

"I love you," he said, hoping that his partner would stay.

"I know," Blazkowicz quietly acknowledged, before continuing.

Poe watched his lover and last remaining friend leave, unmoving. He watched as Blazkowicz descended the mountain, then set out across the wasteland. He watched until Blazkowicz was nothing more than a speck upon the horizon. Finally, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. He had his own duty to fulfill, his own souls to save. They would each hold a special place in each other's hearts for the rest of time. One day though, ages and entire lifetimes from now, The Slayer and The Wretch would meet again.


	9. On The Shores of Hell 4

The Harbinger of Doom watched with anticipation as its first and final enemy ascended the Tower of Battle. Two souls, intertwined since the First Age of Hell. Two who have traveled across time and space, meeting each other on dead and damned worlds age after age. It had slaughtered armies of man, hordes of demons, topped civilizations and crushed planets beneath its cloven hoof. But in the shadow of each of its victories, there stood The Final Antagonist. The Ripper of Flesh and Tearer of Metal. Their first, and their final battle would stain Hell for an eternity.

Blazkowicz ran up the Tower's steps, in perpetual rotation as he carved his way through Babel's guardians. The cacodemons were slow fliers but made up for it in overwhelming numbers, while pinky demons crashed across the endless stairs, and lost souls assaulted him from all directions. He cut the tails from the beasts, crushed the skulls, and gouged out the floating eyes. Red and blue blood coated the feral predator, no amount of bodies capable of stopping him. They weren't even efficient flesh walls.

Sending a spear into the mouth of a cacodemon stopped it from conjuring an electric blast, allowing Blazkowicz to slice open the underbelly of a pinky demon. The cacodemon let out a whine as it attempted to bite town, but lacked the jaw strength to break the wooden weapon. But it would not receive mercy, and soon another spear ripped through its eye, as the demon slayer moved onwards.

Strike at the pinky's knees, knock it from the building. Dodge the lost soul, let it blind the cacodemon. Cut the tail from the body, kick it into the horde. Rip the eyes from their skulls. Bash their brains out against the stone. Leap from the structure, let the beast carry you upwards. Stab it through the back, drag the blade to make it rise. Make it suffer, it's yours now! Leave behind the hordes, and claim your prize at the top!

The sounds of gunfire snap Blazkowicz out of his trance, before bullets begin to rip through the flesh of the cacodemon he rode upon. As it fell he waited until the last minute, before jumping from its carcass, and landing on the stairs shortly before the Tower of Babel's tip. As he readied himself, a human hand clad in black grabbed hold of his arm, only to be broken in an instant. Blazkowicz looked into the sunken blue eyes of a Wolfen SS officer, his skin withered and teeth far too sharp. Then he calmly threw the facist scum down to its death thousands of feet below.

"The damned Jew is still so feisty!" Mayer's voice cut through the air, causing Blazkowicz to look down the stairs where he and two Wolfen SS soldiers stood. Mayer slowly stepped forward as he spoke, "Such tenacity in this one!"

"Didn't I kill you already?" Blazkowicz asked as he pointed his sword, causing the soldiers to ready their submachine guns.

"We're in Hell, filth," Mayer replied. "What do you think happens when we die?"

"God damn demon Nazis," the marine muttered, before dashing forward without warning.

Too slow to react, Mayer felt his intestines spilling out before he fell face first into the stairs. The next Nazi attempted to raise its gun, before its left arm was sliced off in a single chop, temporarily disabling it. Blazkowicz was quick with its partner, kicking its knee in and snapping its neck, before tossing its body down the stairs, watching it roll several yards before falling off the ledge.

The remaining Nazi attempted to shoot him again, but Blazkowicz drove his sword through its chest and pinned it to the wall of the Tower, before pulling its gun from its hand and sliding it into place on his back. Blazkowicz then punched it across where he thought its cheek was under its gasmask, shattering its left lens. Through a bloody brown eye it watched as he began to beat it over and over again, even as his knuckles began to bleed. The Nazi felt its jaw shattering, its teeth being knocked loose from its skull, its eyes caving in, before at last the sword was pulled from its chest. Then Blazkowicz delivered the final blow, as he stabbed down through its helmet.

He ripped his blade free then approached Mayer, who was half crawling away as he attempted to hold his guts inside his body. Blazkowicz said nothing more to the Nazi, as he wasn't worth the breath. Instead he grabbed Mayer by his bandages and hoisted him upwards, shuddering as he realized the cloth was actually a part of the demon's flesh. Then he slit the monster's throat and tossed him back down, before slashing into his back. Over and over the marine cut into the Nazi's back, coating the stairs in a thick pool of blood. By the time he was done there was little more than a pile of bloody meat.

Blazkowicz ascended the last of the stairs, before finally reaching the Tower of Babel's apex. Before him stood the first Tyrant, who was now known as The Cyberdemon. Its organic body was coated in tan flesh that bulged with thick muscles. Its head bore two large black horns growing from either side, that ended in sharp tips. Its teeth were sharp and white, having been fasting for this grand meeting. The demon's midsection showcased visual sinew intermingled with red wires, which said nothing of its limbs. Its right leg had been replaced with a metal prosthetic that let loose a cybernetic sound as it walked. Wires hung from the steel plating in its left arm and shoulder to enhance the demon's strength. Its right arm meanwhile, ended in what was unmistakably a four barreled rocket launcher.

"Welcome home, Great Slayer," it said in its infernal tongue, baring the smile one would save for their oldest friends.

"You're huge," Blazkowicz said with a maniacal laugh. "That means you've got huge guts! Rip and tear! Rip and TEAR YOUR GUTS!"

In their eternal conflict, never before had the Slayer spoken. Then again, his face had never been exposed either. The Cyberdemon was put back by this, which allowed Blazkowicz to throw a spear into its chest. Not that it did much. In response the Cyberdemon fired a single missile, which Blazkowicz quickly dodged before flinging another spear at its weapon, only for the improvised weapon to shatter upon impact. Without waiting for a response Blazkowicz ran forward, drawing his sword, only for the Cyberdemon to grab hold of him by his chest and raise him into the air. Both stared at the other with an intense hatred, one that could only end with the other's death.

"Click click," Blazkowicz whispered with a smile as he brought the stolen submachine gun's barrel against the Cyberdemon's skull. "Boom boom."

The Cyberdemon roared in pain as bullets tore open its flesh and cracked its skull, causing it to drop the marine. He was quick to slide beneath its legs, slicing open its organic limb with his sword, before spinning around to pump the rest of his bullets into the beast's back. It let out another roar before spinning, and letting loose an entire volley of missiles in the same motion. Blazkowicz was barely able to dodge them, while the bombs hit the Tower, their explosions knocking Blazkowicz onto his chest.

Before he could pick himself back up the Cyberdemon lifted him upwards then slammed him down into the roof, cracking the stone beneath its immense strength. Blazkowicz coughed up blood as the Cyberdemon began to circle him, its rocket launcher reloading. He pushed himself upwards, bearing the twisted smile of a man possessed. With his hand still held tightly upon his sword, the Hell Walker ran forward once again. The Cyberdemon let loose a chuckle as it raised its rocket launcher, satisfied in its enemy's stupidity. This was it's fatal mistake, one it had never needed to worry about before.

Blazkowicz forced the bone-blade into the barrel of the Cyberdemon's rocket launcher, until he felt his fingers begin to burn. Then, with a forceful twist of his wrist, he broke the hilt of the blade off. As the Cyberdemon fired he lunged towards the ground, barely managing to make it on time. The agonizing roar of the Cyberdemon was drowned out by the ear rending explosion. Metal and bone shrapnel tore through the demonic hides covering Blazkowicz, but it was nothing compared to what happened to his enemy. As he looked back, he saw the Cyberdemon staring in disbelief at a mangled and bloody stump, its bone sticking out just below where its elbow had been.

As Blazkowicz rose to his feet once again, the Cyberdemon stepped forward just once, its mechanical leg's servos echoing in the now silent Hell. he watched at first in confusion, which turned to awe, as the Cyberdemon's wiring began to catch fire. It let out once last pain filled roar, cursing the name of The Slayer and his damned family, before a final explosion overtook it from within. Chunks of roasted flesh and singed scraps of metal fell from the air, while the vanquished demon's blood began to take on a shape before the victor.

The pentagram was growing into a familiar sight for Blazkowicz. This time though, it did not carry with it the horrid tunes of Hell. Instead there was the almost alien sound of teleportation, before he suddenly stood in the corrupted moon of Deimos. What was once plastic was now a strange gnarled wood. Glass had been replaced with pulsing human skin. A pool of blood ran ominously from what Blazkowicz thought to be a bathroom. All in all, it wasn't as bad as facing down the hordes of Hell. Besides, not everything had been turned.

With a soft smile, Blazkowicz began to strip away the infernal hides he had worn in Hell, for he no longer had need of them. The cold metal was a refreshing feeling as he pulled on the abandoned marine armor, but it was nothing compared to the relief of the internal body suit. The familiar sensation of pulling the helmet on was a pleasant memory he hadn't even realized he held, even if it was nothing more than steel and glass. Then at last, there rested the plasma rifle, it's brown and silver barrel held in place by bone hooks. As the Doom Marine claimed the weapon left for him, his smile grew again into one of malice.

"Let's get this party started," he said to himself before leaving the safety of the armory, not so much as flinching as the Barons of Hell roared at him.


	10. Inferno (end of ACT I)

Blue balls of plasma burned through the flesh of the Barons of Hell, leaving their caracasses burning and boiling as the marine moved through Deimos base. It was evident that the facility around him was changing, becoming one with Hell. The organic matter spread like a virus, covering the walls and devouring the metal it covered. There was no time to focus on the infernal disease though, all that mattered was escape. If the teleporters were still intact, it meant that Blazkowicz stood a chance at returning to Phobos. From there though, he had no idea what he would do.

Blazkowicz couldn't lose to his fury, he had to stay focused and aware at all times. The dozens of Barons he faced were powerful opponents, and any slip up would mean his death. The plasma rifle proved a most useful ally though, and it wasn't long until he was moving forward with confidence. The occasional security corpse provided more weapons for the marine, from pistols to shotguns, and even a chainsaw. The temptation to use the tool was powerful, butBlazkowicz resisted, and kept attacking with caution. When he arrived at an armory, it seemed like an oasis in a desert of fire and brimstone.

The weight of the minigun Blazkowicz now found himself in possession of, mixed with the other weapons and a rocket launcher with four grenades, was enough to lower his speed to a slow jog. With a grin hidden behind his blue visor, the marine moved onwards, opening the doors of the armory to see an approaching Baron of Hell. The whirl of the barrel spinning was music to his ears, played on the most heavenly of instruments. The chorus of tiny explosions as bullets ripped through the Baron's flesh and bones was the most satisfying of drums, and the demon's body hitting the ground with a wet thump was the perfect end to the song. Then he simply continued onwards.

It was nearly an hour before Blazkowicz reached the teleporter hub, and like the rest of the base it was nearly unrecognizable. Computers seemed to be made of wood, while eyes stared out at him from where screens had been, and mouths growing from the walls mashed their jaws in hunger. Several zombies turned as the door opened, but moments later they were nothing more than a heap of lead, cloth, and gore as the marine approached the teleporters. There were six in total, each one unmarked, and only three seemed to still be active.

"Fucking great," he muttered to himself. "Let's go with door number one."

He entered a teleporter at random and took a deep breath as green energy washed over him, before disappearing in a flash of light. The smell of sulphur grew stronger, as Blazkowicz looked out over a sea of demons slaughtering each other indiscriminately. He stood perched in a skeletal hand overlooking them, while the unmistakable sight of human structures rested in the distance. With an exhale, Blazkowicz pulled the trigger of his chaingun. It's whirl caught the attention of the demons closest to him, but by the time they realized what they were looking at, it was too late.

Bullets ripped through infernal flesh as Blazkowicz slowly walked forward, cleaving a path through the seemingly endless horde. The weapon mowed through demons by the dozens, staining the jagged red rocks with blood of crimson and cobalt. When at last the weapon gave no more than its gentle whirl, Blazkowicz forced it through the chest of a pinky demon, knocking it to the ground where it coughed up its own blood. Before the horde could grow close, Blazkowicz revved up his chainsaw and basked in the harmony of its roar, before slicing the head off the beast. What was once blind rage, was now tactical and deliberate. He cut the legs out from beneath the imps, gouged the eyes of the cacodemons, and disemboweled the pinkies. Sixty-two metal teeth tasted demonic blood as The Unchained Predator made his way towards the infernal city of Dis.

Only the eldest of demons fled, for it was they who remembered this fury from ages past. The Hellwalker was a brand upon their minds they could never forget, one who haunted their every waking moment. Now, he had returned, unleashing his vengeance upon the residents of Hell once again, or so they thought. In truth, Blazkowicz's rage was nothing compared to what would soon blossom. The rage of anger and hatred is nothing compared to the rage of sorrow and heartbreak.

The Palace of Many Demons, Pandemonium, grew ever closer as Blazkowicz tore his way from the horde, coating himself in blood and entrails. Suddenly he was beyond them, facing the open thick wooden doors of the stone building. Without wasting time he ran inside, threw his chainsaw aside, and drew the plasma rifle. The approaching demons squealed in pain as plasma ripped through their bodies like a hose through reams of paper. With all of his strength, Blazkowicz pulled each door shut while still firing, just barely managing to keep the infernal horde at bay. By the time each door had been shut, the gun burned his hand as steam rose off its barrel.

Blazkowicz returned the weapon to his back and reclaimed his chainsaw as he took a look around. Pandemonium was a mess of stone corridors and winding staircases, almost like a medieval castle. That was, until it abruptly turned to metal in some places, while pillars of intestines replaced support columns. Skulls decorated the walls, fires burning in their eye sockets to provide light, while some rooms were almost pitch black. It wasn't long until Blazkowicz came across a group of imps, and he treated them like every other demon he had come across. They were left butchered and unrecognizable as he ventured deeper into the palace, looking for any exit he could find.

Pinky demons and spectres alike chased the marine through the palace, each earning its death with pride at the hands of his chainsaw. As he grew deeper into Pandemonium, lost souls began to attack from above, doing little more than burn his skin beneath his armor. Blazkowicz pushed onwards, cutting through every enemy in his path, until at last the chainsaw ran out of gas. Now nearly useless, he tossed it aside, and began to take on his enemies with his trusty combat shotgun.

That was, until deep into the building, he uncovered a weapon that seemed to be a gift from the gods. It rested clutched tight in the claws of a rotting corpse, belonging to what Blazkowicz assumed to be a scientist. Just how the man managed to get this far into Hell, he had no idea. The weapon was made of white steel, with a number of red lights on it, and strange sliders. Of course, he slid them all to what he assumed to be max settings, and looked for an ammo tank. He was pleasantly surprised to find it was still half loaded, and used the same energy cells as his plasma rifle. With a smile, Blazkowicz looked over the inscription on the side of the weapon's chassis.

"The BFG 9000," he whistled. "The Big Fucking Gun."

Not just any devilish nemesis would be a target for Blazkowicz's new toy. As he pumped buckshot into the zombies and imps that inhabited Pandemonium, he kept his eyes out for any sign of a Baron of Hell. as luck would have it, only a few minutes later he stumbled upon two at the bottom of a staircase overlooking a pool of lava. With a gleeful smile Blazkowicz pulled the trigger of the BFG, which sent a vibration and wave of warmth up his spine as it charged up. Before either Baron could even raise its palm to conjure fire, the weapon fired. A massive ball of green energy filled with flickering white lights burst out from the barrel, and let nothing stand in the way. In the blink of an eye it left nothing where it touched, burning through the flesh and bones of the Barons as though they were made of paper. The ball hit a metal wall behind them and let off a blast of kinetic energy as it dyed out, while the Barons both slumped over dead with what little remained of their torsos.

"God damn beautiful," Blazkowicz purred as he slung the BFG over his shoulder.

He continued onwards, deeper into the palace, until metal became stone once more, and it became evident that he was now traveling upwards once again. Undeterred by the forces of Hell, the marine fought through the doors of The House of Pain, leaving it littered with corpses and bullet holes. He broke down the doors of The Unholy Cathedral of Kaliban, and flayed the Hell Priests who prayed to their devil even as he blew them away with his shotgun. Whether it was the red of pain and violence or Hell itself, Blazkowicz had no idea what coated his vision. All he knew were the enemies he gunned down, and the need to continue onwards, killing everything that got in his way.

As his plasma rifle stopped firing, Blazkowicz wasted no time in bashing an imp's head in with it, before jamming it down the throat of a pinky demon. He tore out one of the beast's tusks and slit its throat, before ramming the tooth through the eye of a cacodemon. As the demon fell from the air, the marine turned and threw the tusk into the chest of an approaching imp, knocking it to the ground where it gasped for air through its punctured lung. Each and every demon that came for him was slain, every single body left bloody and broken, there was nothing the lesser demons could do to stop his assault upon the city of Dis.

Claws broke themselves against the metal of his armor in an attempt to stop him. Fireballs burned his skin. Electricity fried his muscles. Blazkowicz felt his hands breaking as he beat down his enemies, each small crack sending a jolt of pain through his body that only amplified with each subsequent strike. Despite how hard he fought, Blazkowicz could feel himself weakening. His armor breaking. His guns running low on ammo. But he continued, because it was all he could do. He would never give Hell the satisfaction of claiming his soul. Not again.

By the time Blazkowicz reached the center of Dis, his left pauldron had been torn off and a bite wound bled profusely. His visor was cracked open, and several small shards of glass had embedded above his nose. A number of cracks and cuts rested across his armor, while the environmental suit beneath had been ripped open and burned, with scorched lacerations riddling his abdomen. In his right hand, he held the severed head of an imp, its jaw dislocated and left eye missing.

Blazkowicz walked forward, his eyes unblinking as he took in the sights around him. On either side of the X shaped area near him were two cacodemons. In the middle of the area was a circular tower, blocking his view of the other two corners. As he stepped towards the right, the whirl of a chaingun filled his ears. Blazkowicz barely managed to hide behind the tower as bullets ripped through the stone, several hitting a cacodemon in its face. The demon let out a squeal of pain before flying overhead, while the other three began to conjure their electrical blasts. Once more he heard the chaingun firing, before something heavy and wet hit the ground nearby. It didn't take a genius to deduce what this was.

Just as the cacodemons fired, Blazkowicz dove out from behind cover and began running as fast as he could. The Spider Mastermind roared at him as she fired, her bullets narrowly missing Blazkowicz. Just as he anticipated, several stray rounds hit the cacodemons, who turned their attention to their master. As he grew close he began to unload his shotgun into the monster, while it was preoccupied with the cacodemons. They only managed to hit the Mastermind a few times before it butchered them with its chaingun, and turned its attention back to Blazkowicz just as he reached his last shell.

The Mastermind swatted Blazkowicz away with one of its bulky metal legs, but in a moment he had recovered and glared at the demon as he plotted out his next attack. Then suddenly he was knocked onto his chest as a surge of pain washed over his back. Blazkowicz quickly rolled over to see a Baron of Hell charging towards him, its claws pulled back as it prepared to strike. Blazkowicz narrowly rolled out of the way, before grabbing hold of its arm to pull himself to his feet. Taking advantage of its confusion, Blazkowicz dove behind the Baron as the Mastermind once more fired at him without considering the consequences. Just like before, the demon was more concerned with the insult of injury than finishing off its prey.

Blazkowicz watched as the Baron marched forward, shrugging off the machine gun rounds. While it ripped chunks of brain off the Spider Mastermind, Blazkowicz drew his rocket launcher. The first rocket missed, and instead hit the ground to the Mastermind's right and blew a portion of its leg off, causing it to fall to its side by a few feet. He quickly reloaded and fired again, this time rupturing its right eye and spilling blue blood onto the stone ground. His final rocket hit the Baron of Hell in the back, causing it to stagger forward. Seizing the moment, the Mastermind bit into the Baron's gut and began to fire as it tore, until at last the Baron fell to the ground dead and the Mastermind spit the flesh out with a smile of triumph.

Without wasting any time, Blazkowicz dropped the rocket launcher and pulled out his BFG, intent on making the most of his final blast. The spiderdemon dragged itself forward as it let out a roar and began to whirl it's chaingun once again, while Blazkowicz pulled the trigger. The massive ball of green energy collided with the Mastermind's steel chassis, melting through it with some resistance, before sending out a shockwave near the middle of the demon's bottom. A shard of metal was sent upwards through the monster's maw from this, and it fell flat against the ground as blood began to trail out of its mouth.

In a garbled voice with surprisingly good english it began to speak while Blazkowicz cautiously approached. It declared, "One day, whether it be months of aeons, I will find you again, be it in Hell or Earth, stars or abyss. I will swallow you whole."

"Swallow this," Blazkowicz replied before jamming his shotgun into the demon's mouth.

As he pulled the trigger the demon cackled, before red hot lead ripped apart its throat. Then, a faint beeping sound filled his ears. Blazkowicz barely had time to run away before the spiderdemon's husk exploded, sending gore and scraps of metal throughout the area. As Blazkowicz looked back to its smoldering corpse, the beast smiled back at him through what was left of its mangled face. Then, there came a strange whooshing sound, and a soft cool breeze washed over Blakowicz's back for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

He looked over his shoulder to see a crimson red portal, to a beautiful and familiar place. Emerald green fields and hills beneath a blue sky laced with white clouds peered out at him from beyond the portal, beckoning him home. Blazkowicz walked forward, the familiar smell of his family's farm seeping through the cracks in his helmet. He slowly pulled it off with his left hand, expecting the portal to disappear, but still it remained. He entered, and almost immediately fell to his knees as he stepped foot back on Earth. The portal closed behind him, leaving Blazkowicz in peace.

He dropped his helmet to the ground and breathed in as much of the air as he could, basking in the beautiful aroma he had never noticed before. He pulled his gloves off then planted his hands in the ground, taking in the feeling of the grass and dirt beneath his fingers. They felt better than he could have ever realized before. As the realization that he was finally home came to him, Blazkowicz began to cry. He cried from happiness, from pain, from sorrow, from fear, from remorse, he cried just so he could feel something other than anger. Then, at last, the smell of burning wood drifted into his nostrils.

Blazkowicz climbed to his feet, pain washing over his body as he did so. Then, he began to walk forward, climbing the hill to face his childhood home. It rested in the distance, engulfed in flames, burning just like the homes of his ancestors. His was a family that would never know peace. Blazkowicz walked forward, the breeze now taunting him as everything he had ever known burned to a crisp. As he grew closer, he saw that even the most innocent of life wasn't spared. Daisy, his beloved rabbit's head rested impaled upon a wooden spike, a testament to the sick satisfaction they took in death. A tear rolled down Blazkowicz's cheek, as he clenched his fists in eternal hatred.


End file.
